


a thousand funerals (of who they used to be)

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Evil Author Day 2021 [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Evil Author Day, If I ever finish the fic, No Beta we die like pretty much everyone in the First Age, ahaha, but oh my god is it exhausting, canon events, it'll be Barduil, this is a longterm project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:48:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: The friendship of Thranduil and Galion through the years
Relationships: Galion & Thranduil (Tolkien), Lúthien Tinúviel & Galion (Tolkien), Lúthien Tinúviel & Nimloth of Doriath, Lúthien Tinúviel & Thranduil, Nimloth of Doriath & Galion (Tolkien), Nimloth of Doriath & Thranduil (Tolkien)
Series: Evil Author Day 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163834
Kudos: 7





	a thousand funerals (of who they used to be)

**Author's Note:**

> That time of year again, guys!! Evil Author Day! Woohoo

**_To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of who they used to be._ **

_The people they’re too exhausted to be any longer. The people they don’t recognize inside themselves anymore. The people they grew out of, the people they never ended up growing into. We so badly want the people we love to get their spark back when it burns out; to become speedily found when they are lost._

_But it is not our job to hold anyone accountable to the people they used to be. It is our job to travel with them between each version and to honour what emerges along the way. Sometimes it will be an even more luminescent flame. Sometimes it will be a flicker that disappears and temporarily floods the room with a perfect and necessary darkness._

~Heidi Priebe

The day they meet, they’re both on the cusp of early adulthood and the world still seems like it has everything to offer them.

“Thranduil, hurry up!! We can’t get caught or nana will have a fit!” Galion turns swiftly at the female voice and frowns, there shouldn’t be anyone down in the wine cellars except him.

“Well, you could help, you know?” an annoyed male voice responds, Galion quietly sneaks behind the wine barrels, until he can peer around the corner and see the young elleth and ellon sneaking about. The elleth is carrying a bottle of wine in each hand, while the ellon is carrying one of the smaller kegs of wine about. Galion stares at their faces, before shock forms when he recognizes them. The Prince and the Princess.

“I told you to just grab the bottles!” Princess Lúthien hisses, a scowl forming on her beautiful face, beside her, Prince Thranduil laughs and shakes his head.

“There’s more if we take a keg.” The Prince answers, readjusting his grip on the keg. “Come on, you go first, I’ll be behind you.”

“How are you going to-you know what, cousin? I don’t want to know!” Princess Lúthien exclaims, turning on her heel, she tucks the heads of the wine bottles between the fingers of her left hand, then uses her right one to pull herself up onto the wine barrels behind her, she turns and freezes, catching sight of Galion, who stares back. “I told you to hurry up, gwanur!” Princess Lúthien hisses, turning back to Prince Thranduil and pointing at Galion. Prince Thranduil spins quickly and his eyes go wide.

“Uhm.”

“There’s an easier way out, you know?” He’s not sure why he says that, that instead of saying anything else, like about how the Prince and Princess are currently stealing King Thingol’s wine. “I assume you’re trying for the window up there?” he asks, turning and pointing to the window across the way from them, almost hidden behind the shelving.

“Maybe we were.” Princess Lúthien answers, narrowing her eyes. Galion grins and puts a finger to his lips, before waving for them to follow him. He doesn’t see the two royals share a quick and quiet look before Princess Lúthien jumps down from the barrels. Galion hears the _very_ soft footfalls on the stone and leads them through the wine cellar to the ‘secret’ entrance his father has shown him only once.

“This goes into the Forest,” Galion explains, keeping his voice quiet as he pushes a pressure plate hidden behind a tapestry on the wall, slowly the stone before them grinds open and reveals a small walkway, there’s a lever on the other side. “You pull the lever to come in, and there’s another lever at the end of the tunnel.”

“Why are you helping us?” Prince Thranduil queries, frowning at him with something calculating in his eyes. Galion shrugs his shoulders and sighs.

“I really don’t know. But if you get caught, I know nothing of this!” he tells them, looking first at Prince Thranduil then over to Princess Lúthien, both grin and nod their agreement. He sighs again and rubs at his forehead. “Why are you stealing the wine?”

“We’re having a party.” Princess Lúthien tells him, a giant grin pulling at her lips. “Nana has announced that Prince Thranduil and I are almost finished with our studies!”

“Lúthien, that’s a secret!” Prince Thranduil hisses, but Princess Lúthien just laughs and waves away his protests, turning back to Galion.

“You should come, it’ll just be us and maybe our cousin, Lady Nimloth.” Princess Lúthien tells him, Galion’s eyes go wide and he stares at her, incredulous.

“Are you… inviting me to a noble party?” he queries, his words struggling to form on his lips.

“It’s not a noble party, at best it’s just a party that three nobles happen to be throwing for themselves.” Prince Thranduil replies, rolling his eyes. “You can say no, if you want.”

“No, I want to see this.” Galion decides, a little grin pulling at his lips. “Do you nobles even know _how_ to party?” he queries, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen what your parents think partying entails.

“Ugh, that’s stuffy formal partying, that’s _barely_ even partying.” Prince Thranduil whines, shaking his head. “We know how to party, but you’ll just have to take our word for it until the party starts. Meet us in the Moonlit Glade when Ithil is highest in the sky.” Prince Thranduil says, before frowning. “Do you know where the glade is?”

“Yes, I know it. I’ll be there.” Galion promises, then frowns at them. “Attire?”

“Whatever you want.” Princess Lúthien tells him, stepping lightly past him and into the walkway. “We must be going.”

“Wait, gwanur, our manners are slipping.” Prince Thranduil tells her, turning to Galion. “We didn’t get your name?”

“I’m Galion.”

“Well, Galion, we’ll see you tonight.” Prince Thranduil says, inclining his head, then following after Lúthien. Galion stares after them in silence, before closing the passageway and returning to his tedious work of cataloging the wines, of course, he makes no mention of the missing wine.

\--

That night, he sneaks out his window and hurries down to the wine cellar, disappearing through the secret passage and out into the forest. He is wearing his nicest clothes, that he gets the chance to wear only once in a blue moon. If his father knew what he was doing, he’d be grounded for the rest of his long life, he can just tell.

He steps into the Moonlit Glade and smiles up at Ithil shining above them. Before Ithil rose for the first time, this had simply been one of countless glades across the forest.

“Galion!” he spins to the sound, finds Prince Thranduil grinning at him from the branches of one of the trees. “You made it!”

“I did! I want to see how you party, remember?” Galion queries, looking around for Princess Lúthien or Lady Nimloth and not finding them.

“The girls are still doing their hair,” Thranduil tells him, the exasperation in his voice is clear to hear. “Just put it in a bun or something, honestly, why they think they must spend precious time making their hair look pretty is beyond me!” Galion laughs and moves to scale up the tree and sit in the branch beside the Prince, enjoying the sight of the moonlight glowing on the flowers in the glade. “It’s not like anyone who cares is going to see.”

“Maybe they care, my Prince.” Galion points out, turning to look at Thranduil, the Prince huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Maybe, also you can just call me Thranduil, we’re going to be drinking together soon, no place for titles.” Galion swallows thickly and nods his head. He is on first-name terms with the Prince of Doriath. “Oh, here they come!” Thranduil exclaims, turning his head and looking back towards the way Galion has just come. Galion turns and stares at the ellith shining in the moonlight as they walk beneath the trees. He can immediately see what took them so long.

“Do I look like my mother yet?” Princess Lúthien queries as she steps into the glade and twirls around, the white gems in her dark hair sparkling like the stars above them.

“Yes, yes, you’re very pretty,” Thranduil tells her, rolling his eyes, while Lady Nimloth just laughs, stepping into the glade, the gems on her head are almost lost by the shine of her silver hair.

“I told her you wouldn’t care, but she insisted.” Lady Nimloth tells them conspiratorially, while Princess Lúthien continues to swirl around.

“Did we forget to invite a musician?” Galion queries, bringing attention to himself, Lady Nimloth laughs, and plucks a small flute from her pocket, waving it in front of him.

“We each play an instrument.” Lady Nimloth tells him, with a soft smile. “I claim the flute, Lúthien claims the lute and her voice, and Thranduil… well, I don’t think he’s met an instrument that he didn’t like, isn’t that right, gwanur?” Lady Nimloth asks turning to Thranduil who simply hums in response.

“Cousin, please meet our new friend, Galion. He caught us sneaking out with the wine.” Thranduil says, ignoring the conversation and introducing Galion, instead.

“My Lady, it’s my pleasure to meet you.” Galion stutters, pressing his hand over his heart in greeting, Lady Nimloth just grins.

“Please, my friends call me Nimloth.” She tells him, before turning to Thranduil and frowning. “Are you going to get your arse down here and play me some music or what, gwanur?”

“Such language from such a fair maiden!” Thranduil exclaims, with mock scandal, even as he rolls out of the tree and lands with a gentle thump on his feet. “I suppose I can play you some music.”

Galion spends the night out under the stars with the three royals, drinking, feasting, dancing, and singing.

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

“Ow, fuck!”

“Language, Nimloth, for Eru’s sake!” Thranduil hisses, crouched down behind a bookshelf, peering over the top to see into the room ahead of them, where their parents are discussing ‘adult things’.

“Shut up, both of you!” Lúthien growls, quickly ducking down when one of the elves in the other room turns their way.

“You guys talk too loudly; you’re going to get us all caught!” Galion whispers, pressing into Thranduil’s side and huffing.

“I cut my hand open!” Nimloth grumbles, holding out her arm, and the other three all turn to look. Thranduil tuts at her and reaches out to press his hand down over the wound, there’s a small glow, then the wound fades away.

“Be more careful, gwanur!”

“Yeah, now, come on, I want to hear what they’re all whispering about,” Lúthien says, slipping forward to another shelf. “I can’t believe they think we’re too young!”

“It just means they love us.” Thranduil points out, slipping in beside her.

“Sure, I’ll believe that.” Nimloth snorts, scrambling up into the shadows, Galion gives a small laugh, then follows after them.

He doesn’t know why they’re sneaking into the council meeting when Lord Celeborn is soft enough to just tell them whatever they want to know, but Galion’s not fool enough, or perhaps not smart enough, to say no, and besides, he’s curious to hear about what’s happening outside the Girdle, too.

* * *

“You need to stop encouraging Daeron!” Thranduil hisses at Lúthien, throwing a small clump of dirt at her, she shrieks and throws a clump back, glaring darkly.

“I don’t encourage him, I like his music, that’s all.” She replies, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “I wish he’d figure out that I don’t love him.”

“He’ll figure it out, eventually.” Galion comments, looking up from the parchment work he’s brought with him to the glade to complete. “Besides, you’re _the_ Crown Princess, if he takes too long figuring it out, tell your father.”

“I suppose,” Lúthien replies, frowning. “I’ve seen the man that I will marry.”

“Oh?” Thranduil queries, sitting up quickly, before frowning, cocking his head to the side. “Wait, _man_?”

“Man.” Lúthien agrees, with a nod, smiling at them, then turning to grin at Nimloth, who’s up in the trees softly playing her flute. “Nimloth becomes my daughter-in-law.” She announces, laughing when Nimloth chokes. Thranduil bursts into laughter while Galion just sighs and shakes his head at their antics. He knows Lúthien and Thranduil often have what they call Seeing Dreams, but they never put much stock into the things they See, this is just one of those times.

* * *

“Thranduil!! Thranduil!!”

Galion and Thranduil are both on their feet at the sound of Lúthien’s panicked call, they share a look before rushing to follow the voice. Finding Lúthien standing in the secret passageway, her chest heaving like she’s run some long way. Tears shining in her eyes.

“Lúthien!” Thranduil exclaims, hurrying to her side and pulling her into his arms. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”

“I am well. I just-“ Lúthien laughs, the sound hysteric and lost and it breaks Galion’s heart to hear. “I met my human.” She whispers and Galion’s heart freezes now in his chest, still broken.

“Your human?” Thranduil queries, voice thick with confusion before he stills. “Your _human_. Oh.”

“I love him, yet I do not know him.”

“You know what your mother taught us. We cannot thwart our own fate.” Thranduil whispers, reaching up to stroke his hand through Lúthien’s ruffled hair. “If it is your fate to be with this mortal, then you will be with him, one way or another. Should you not control your own narrative?”

“He is mortal.”

“Yes, but he’s yours.” Thranduil points out, his voice gentle as he pulls Lúthien with him to the chair at Galion’s desk, carefully pushes her down into it, and starts braiding her hair, as a means of comfort for them both. Galion busies himself stocking the bottles on the shelves and trying not to feel like he’s intruding, he could leave, of course, but then his father would ask questions. “Apparently, I have my own mortal, too, remember? Though I doubt your Vision there since I have Seen my elven bride.”

“I doubted my Vision, too, but _he_ is _here_.” Lúthien huffs and rubs at her eyes. “I’ll meet my fate on my terms.”

“I will say nothing to your parents,” Thranduil promises, then turns to Galion with a raised eyebrow, Galion snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I will also say nothing to your parents.” Galion agrees, before turning his attention back to his stocks, while the cousins quietly discuss Lúthien’s plans.

* * *

Galion listens in horror as Thingol commands Beren to bring back a Silmaril in order to claim Lúthien’s hand. He turns to Thranduil and Nimloth, the three of them sharing the same terrified stares, for they know their friend’s heart and her mind. She has chosen her fate, and now, it seems, her father has chosen for her another one.

Lúthien has made up her mind, they cannot change it. Thingol has made up his, too, and as with his daughter, his mind cannot be changed.

* * *

Galion watches from beneath the trees as Thranduil and Nimloth disappear up into the living prison that has become Lúthien’s home, held under guard until she no longer wishes to go stumbling after her human. But Galion has already learned enough of prophecy and Seeing Dreams to know that Lúthien saw herself with Beren and so, with Beren she will be, whether Thingol wills it or not.

When Thranduil comes back down, he does so with the ladders and Galion frowns, looking back up to look for Nimloth, but she is nowhere to be found.

“Nimloth will stay with her,” Thranduil admits, looking sadly above them. “I fear if my honadar is not careful, Lúthien will fade away before our eyes. She already is.”

“She swore to walk into hell alone, Thranduil. She _swore_ it. She will not fade up there.” Galion cautions, watching his friend sigh.

“I know.” Thranduil agrees, rubbing at his eyes. “Come, let’s return.”

* * *

Galion wakes in the middle of the night, to a frantic knocking at his door. He sighs and rolls from his bed, stumbling to his door and pulling it open to blink at his visitor, a frown immediately forming.

“Thranduil?”

“Lúthien is Doomed!” Thranduil hisses, pushing past him and into Galion’s quarters. Galion’s frown deepens as he shuts the door, turning to find his friend pacing across the floor.

“What’s happened?”

“She’s escaped. But she’s Doomed. I Saw it, Galion!” Thranduil exclaims, and Galion startles to see tears falling from Thranduil’s eyes. “I Saw her dead! Her and her human. Curse Thingol and his foolishness!” Thranduil sobs, rubbing at his eyes, but the tears fall too fast for him to stem the tide. Galion steps forward to pull his friend into his arms, shushing him gently when Thranduil clings to him and sobs. “She’s going to die.”

“We knew this when she met the human, Thranduil,” Galion tells him, pulling the Prince with him to Galion’s bed and ushering the Prince under the covers, Galion climbs in beside him and holds his friend close. “We must pray there is still time left for her, but you cannot pretend this is a surprise, my friend.” In answer, Thranduil’s sobs begin again in earnest and Galion simply lays there, holding his friend tight and whispering soothing, sweet nothings to him until he finally calms.

* * *

The moment they return to the caves and are hidden away in Galion’s rooms, Thranduil is collapsing to his knees, great heart-wrenching sobs tearing from him, Galion falls beside him, and Nimloth is but a second behind him. The three of them clinging to each other, their hearts shattering in their chests as they cannot tame their grief.

They stay like that for a long time, none of them able to do more than weep as their sorrows have overtaken them, for their friend shall no longer walk at their side.

* * *

In the wake of Lúthien’s passing, Nimloth pulls away from them, withdraws into her studies and her hobbies and they see little of her. Thranduil withdraws, too, but not the same way that Nimloth does, he’s still there, nagging Galion as he tries to work and convincing Galion to come away with him, but there is no longer any music and there is no longer any joy. They walk beneath the trees, but Thranduil’s heart is not lightened and Galion’s feels only aching sorrow.

Not even having Lúthien return to them, mortal and living, brings back the joy. Galion finds he’s forgotten the sound of his friends’ laughter, the sound of their voices raised in song. Lúthien was their heart and as she is changed, never to be as she was, the same is true of them. They are irreparably altered.

* * *

He’s chasing Thranduil through the topmost branches of the trees along the edge of the Forest when Thranduil slips in front of him and only prevents himself from plummeting to the earth by grabbing hold of the branch immediately below him. Galion’s heart stops in his chest for the seconds it takes to confirm that his friend is fine.

“Thranduil?” he calls, swinging down into the lower branches, and rushes to his friend's side. “What’s happened?” he asks, pulling his friend up onto the branch and refusing to let go when he feels the way Thranduil is shaking. “Mellon nin, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you feel it, Galion?” Thranduil queries, his voice barely more than a whisper and when he looks at Galion, all the blood has rushed from his face, his eyes are so haunted. “Melian’s Girdle has fallen. She is gone and the trees sing that Thingol is dead.”

“But that’s not possible.” Galion breathes, turning his attention finally to the trees and listening to the songs they are singing. Thingol is dead; cut down by faithless dwarves, and Melian has fled, her girdle falling behind her. “We have to go back,” Galion exclaims, turning his attention towards where Menegroth lies. “Thranduil, your father is the ranking royal with Dior beyond the forest boundary; your father holds the city.”

“Yes, let’s go back.” Thranduil agrees, but Galion can already see him withdrawing again, they were just beginning to come out of their shells again, but this is too much. “Let’s walk back, I can’t… I don’t have the balance right now.” Thranduil murmurs, so Galion nods and helps his friend down from the branches to the forest floor. Slowly, they make their way back to Menegroth and the sorrow that overwhelms the caves.

* * *

“Ada?” Galion quietly follows Thranduil into the throne room, stares at the body of their King lying still and unmoving on a slate in the center of the room, then he turns and finds Prince Oropher sitting on the stairs at the foot of the throne, staring at the King, his brother. The Prince startles at Thranduil’s question and looks up, Galion looks away from the haunted look in the Prince’s eyes. Thranduil hurries forward to fall to his knees before his father, reaching up to take his hands. “We’ll make them pay for this, whoever it was.” Thranduil promises, his voice so earnest.

“The dwarves who did this are already dead.” Oropher replies, reaching forward to caress Thranduil’s face, Galion notes the Prince’s hand is shaking, so he knows Thranduil will note this as well. “Melian has fled in her grief, across the sea.”

“Like grandfather?” Thranduil queries, Galion makes a note to ask about that later, since he knows nothing of Oropher and Thingol’s parents other than rumour, and of Thranduil’s mother and her family, he knows even less.

“Yes, ion nin, like your grandfather. She is not coming back.” Oropher answers, looking deep into Thranduil’s eyes, as Thranduil raises his hand to grip his father’s wrist. Galion stands to the side of them, letting them have their moment, but also unable to leave, for he has not been dismissed. “Master Galion?” he startles at the Prince calling his name and turns.

“My Prince?”

“I have a task for you, should you be willing to accept it?” Oropher queries, pulling from Thranduil and rising to his feet, Thranduil scurrying after him.

“Ada?”

“It is my honour to serve, my Prince.” Galion replies, for he knows his place and he always has and no matter what Oropher commands him, he will do it, because he must, unless the Prince shall send him from Thranduil’s side, because that he does not think he can abide.

“This is your primary duty from this day forward, all other duties are secondary and should I attempt to order you otherwise in the future, you will disregard those future orders on the assumption that I am no longer in my correct state of mind, do you understand?” Oropher asks, Galion glances at Thranduil in confusion, before turning his attention back to his Prince.

“I do, my Prince.”

“Good, then your duty is this. You _will_ ensure that my son survives the Doom that is to come, and all the Dooms after and-“

“Ada!”

“-should he fall, it had better be because you have already fallen in defense of him. Should you be left with the choice of saving my life or his, you will pick him every single time. His duty will see him walking into danger, your duty is to pull him out of it, drag him along, even if he’s kicking and screaming and fighting you the whole way. Do you accept this duty, Galion of Doriath?” Oropher asks, and he looks so much like King Thingol in that moment that it _hurts._

“I do, my Prince.” Galion promises, tries to ignore the wounded noise Thranduil makes standing between them both. “Death shall claim him, only after it has already claimed me, this I swear to you _and_ to Eru Ilúvatar.” Oropher inclines his head then turns away from them.

“You have my thanks. Now, you’re both dismissed, I have other matters to attend.” Galion bows low, and all but drags Thranduil from the room when his friend looks like he’s going to argue and refuse. He knows better than to let Thranduil incite Oropher’s wrath, especially with the King’s body lying in state beside them.

Once they’re no longer in the throne room, Thranduil folds in on himself, but he doesn’t speak until they’re hidden away in Galion’s room, and why they always end up in his room and not Thranduil’s, he’ll never know.

“Why would you swear such a thing?” Thranduil demands of Galion, his eyes shining with anguish and fear, Galion sighs and rubs at his head.

“You’re my best friend, Thranduil, and my Prince. We’ve already lost Lúthien and Nimloth is rarely ever here. I’m just… a nobody. But you’re our _Prince,_ you’re the nephew of Elu Thingol, you have some great destiny waiting for you. Your life is worth so much more than mine.” Galion answers, knowing already that his friend will disagree.

“Not to me!” Thranduil hisses, the words tumbling on a sob. “You’re not a nobody and I refuse your oath for a better one!”

“I have already sworn to the One.”

 _“I know!”_ Thranduil answers, his breath shaking audibly over his lips. “But swear another one with me.”

“Thranduil-“

“Swear that we’ll die together or not at all!” Thranduil demands, Galion breathes in deeply and considers his friend’s demand, then slowly nods his head.

“Fine. We will go together or neither of us will go at all.” Galion agrees, then he laughs. “You and Lúthien aren’t all that different, after all.” Thranduil grins at his words and nods his head.

“She and I are two peas in a pod.” He admits before something occurs to him and the smile fades away like it had never been. “Thingol is dead.”

“Aye, he is.” Galion agrees, considering their options. “I’m sorry for your loss, Thranduil.”

* * *

Galion stumbles out of his bed to the horrific sound of screaming echoing through the Caves. He scrambles to grab his sword and slips out of his quarters, stares in shock at the sight that greets him; running elves and invading dwarves. He remembers the oath he made to Oropher, and the second one he made to Thranduil and so he turns, rushing through the Caves, cutting down any dwarf that gets in his way.

He finds the two Princes in the throne room both still dressed in their sleeping clothes, but their swords are dripping with blood, so he knows they’ve not been idle.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, falling into step at Thranduil’s side, his friend turns to him, his eyes cataloging Galion, as Galion is assessing him, both checking for injury.

“You’re taking Thranduil and escaping into the Forest. I will retake the city.” Oropher commands, holding up his hand when Thranduil looks ready to argue. “Should I fall, you and Dior are the only ones who can keep everything together, Thranduil. Do not argue with me on this!”

“I-“

“There will be those fleeing, Thranduil. We can defend them, should the dwarves find the passageways.” Galion offers, sees how unhappy Thranduil is by the decision, but his friend just nods and reluctantly turns away, at the doorway, Thranduil turns back to look at Oropher.

“I shan’t forgive you if you die, ada.” Thranduil says, before walking away, Galion at his side as they usher their people to the hidden passageways and cut down any dwarves they encounter.

* * *

“At least Nimloth and Lúthien aren’t here.” Thranduil points out at some point when they’re both exhausted, sweaty, and breathing hard, covered in elven blood and dwarven and not sure how long they’ve been fighting. They never did make it along any of the secret passages, only ever stood at their entrances, protecting those fleeing, before moving on to the next.

“Thank Nienna for small mercies.” Galion replies, though he barely has the voice for it. They stumble on another group of dwarves and he musters up his energy before joining Thranduil in fighting them.

* * *

When they stumble across Lord Celeborn, who informs them the dwarves have fled, they both collapse to the floor, lying side by side and panting for breath.

Lord Celeborn commands them both to rest and that he would send healers to them. It’s only after those words are spoken that Galion realizes there is a pain in his upper right arm, and his hip, along with other little agonies across his body. He groans, struggling to sit up so he can look at Thranduil, finds his friend holding his left arm awkwardly against his chest, and there is an open wound on his thigh that is bleeding sluggishly, but the wound doesn’t appear life-threatening, so Galion huffs and lets himself slump back against the cool stone.

“Together or not at all.” Thranduil mumbles beside him, reaching out blindly for him, Galion grunts and lifts his good arm to claim Thranduil’s hand.

“Together or not at all.” He agrees, squeezing Thranduil’s hand tightly before unconsciousness claims him.

* * *

Galion wakes with a little gasp, blinking open his eyes and trying not to worry himself over that fact. He finds himself in the infirmary, a warmth pressed up against him and he looks to find that Thranduil is resting beside him, their hands still clutched tightly, as they had been when unconsciousness had taken them.

“Ah, Galion, you’re awake.” He startles, looking up and beyond Thranduil’s side of the bed, finds Prince Oropher standing by the window just beside the bed.

“My Prince.” Galion says, looking back to his and Thranduil’s clasped hands as he tries to extricate his own. “How bad is it?”

“It’s quite bad, the city needs extensive repairs, we lost many people.” Oropher answers, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. “Prince Dior will be arriving sometime in the next few weeks with his family, and he will be crowned King.”

“How long have we been sleeping?” Galion queries, finally freeing his hand, even as Thranduil mumbles something and snuggles against him. Galion really can’t help the fond smile he gives his friend, even though he knows Thranduil would be horrified to be like this before his father.

“It’s been two days. The healers were concerned about the state of your minds, given that this is your first battle and you pushed yourselves to your limits, so they kept you under.” Oropher explains, Galion nods his understanding. “You’re both fine, though, nothing time and care won’t heal.”

“So, he should be waking soon?” Galion asks, looking down at Thranduil again.

“Yes, soon.” Oropher agrees, with a sigh. “You know, he always wanted siblings, but my Orntheria was lost in the birthing bed. So, he was alone, aside from Lúthien and Nimloth, of course, who he has all but claimed as sisters. You’ve been good for him.” Galion stares at the Prince for a long moment, before laughing and looking away, watching the healers bustle about the rest of the infirmary.

“You know, in those early days, we were waiting for you all to decide we couldn’t be friends. The King, at least, looked like he was going to have a fit when Lúthien introduced me that first time. But none of you ever said anything.” Galion admits, turning his attention back to the Prince, who is smiling.

“My niece has always been very crafty when she wants to be.” He explains with an amused little laugh. “She whispered in her mother’s ear about you the day after you met, I don’t know exactly what she said, but Melian wouldn’t hear a bad word said about you.” The Prince explains, before looking down at Thranduil with a fondly exasperated smile. “This one, on the other hand, told me… hmm, how exactly did he put it, again? Ah, yes!” Oropher states, laughing before he clears his throat dramatically and puts on a good impression of Thranduil. “‘I like Galion, he’s my friend and I don’t care what you have to say about it. If you have a problem with our friendship, you can go and find yourself another son. Oh, wait, you can’t! I’m going to go and nag Galion away from his work now, so you can sit here and think your stupid, simple, small-minded thoughts, some of us have more important things to be doing.’” Galion stares at the Prince in shock before he bursts out laughing.

“He did not!” he exclaims, looking down at his still slumbering friend, Oropher snorts.

“He did. He gets that from his mother.” Oropher answers, with a soft sigh. “She was always quite biting with her words when she wanted to be. Her father isn’t much better, to be honest. He just makes it seem like he’s complimenting you when he definitely is not.”

“I didn’t realize he was still around?” Galion queries, knowing that he should not pry, but he’s always been far too curious for his own good.

“Cuiloth is residing in Aman, with the other Maiar. He fled there when Orntheria passed.” Oropher explains, humming softly. “Melian has always assured me that he would return one day, but I’m not certain I believe it.”

“I’ve learned by now not to doubt what any of them See.” Galion answers, quietly processing the fact that Thranduil is part Maia, as Lúthien is, as Dior is. “Lúthien Saw Beren years ago, before he was even born.”

“I see, what other secrets have you all been keeping?” Oropher queries, Galion just grins and doesn’t answer, still not looking at the Prince even when he sighs in annoyance. Beside him, Thranduil grumbles and he looks down to find his friend staring up at him with blurry eyes.

“Welcome back to the waking world, mellon.” He says, watching the clouds fade from Thranduil’s eyes. His Prince sits up with an annoyed sigh and looks around them, jumping when he finally sees his father.

“Ada!” Thranduil exclaims, reaching his good arm out to his father, his other arm is held against his chest in a sling. Galion just knows he’s going to have hell trying to keep his friend wearing it.

“Hello, ion nin.” Oropher greets with a smile, climbing from the chair to pull Thranduil into a tight hug. “I survived, as demanded. In fact, I’m uninjured, unlike someone else I could name.”

“I’m just special!” Thranduil announces, a vibrant grin on his face as Oropher pulls back.

“You’re something, alright.” Oropher agrees, before sighing heavily. “Now that you’re awake, I have to return to my duties. I only convinced Lord Celeborn to handle things until you both woke.”

“He’s such a softie.” Thranduil says with a laugh, Galion snorts and rolls his eyes. “Go on then, adar. Galion and I will be here when you return.” Oropher nods at both of them then leaves. Thranduil immediately turns his attention to Galion, his eyes roving over his friend. “How come you don’t have to have a sling?”

“Because I managed to avoid breaking my bones.” Galion answers, without missing a beat. “If you move out of the way of war-hammers, things go better for you.” He points out, grinning when Thranduil huffs at him. Their smiles vanish almost as quickly as they arrived when Galion thinks of what they’ve done. “We took lives.” He whispers, closing his eyes against the images of the dwarves falling beneath his sword.

“Yeah,” Thranduil agrees, clutching Galion’s hand and squeezing tightly. “to save lives.”

“Taking lives to save lives, that’s… a nightmare.” Galion mutters, opening his eyes to look at his friend, Thranduil nods and purses his lips.

“Yeah. But we did it and I’m not going to regret it. They invaded our home, killed our King. They got what they deserved, even if I don’t want to ever have to do it again. I will, though, if I have to.” Thranduil states with a determined shine in his eyes.

“I’ll be right at your side, we’ll do it again, together, if we have to.” Galion agrees, giving Thranduil’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t regret it, either, I just wish we didn’t have to do it.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

Nimloth slips back into her place at their side as if she had never left. She’s Queen now, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from getting into mischief with them, while her husband, Thranduil’s father, and Lord Celeborn attempt to put the city back to rights.

“You do know that you can’t kidnap my children?” Nimloth asks, bouncing Elwing in her arms, as she watches Galion and Thranduil excitedly telling the twins about the things their mother and grandmother used to get up to with them both, while the twins try to braid their hair.

“I’m pretty sure Galion and I were both named as third parents when the boys were born.” Thranduil points out, a giant grin on his face, even as Eluréd pulls at his hair. The boys are fascinated with Thranduil’s white-blond hair, as they are with their mother’s own silver hair. Elurín is mimicking his brother’s actions with Galion’s own hair.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works.” Nimloth answers, laughing and rolling her eyes. “But carry on, I guess.”

“Are you going to join us in the glade when the kids are down for the night?” Galion queries, his eye twitching as Elurín pulls just a little too hard on his hair.

“I might, depends on what we’re getting up to in the glade?”

“We’re having a party, for old time’s sake,” Thranduil answers, with a sly smile. “Galion is in charge of providing the wine.” Galion rolls his eyes at that and turns to appraise Eluréd’s work when the little one crows over the little braid he’s managed to make.

“Well done, penneth.” Galion coos, before turning to Nimloth and humming. “You could invite Dior, but then we’d have all the guards in Menegroth accompanying us.”

“Well, I can’t blame them.” Nimloth replies, her smile turning sad, she tries to pull it back when Elwing gently pats her cheek, but Galion can see the sorrow in her eyes. “I’ll join you, but we’ll take guards with us, and we won’t go crazy with the wine, and we will all be armed.”

“Deal!”

* * *

Galion wakes once more to the sound of screaming echoing through the halls. His chest aches even as he rolls from the bed and grabs up his sword. He’s had far more practice with it in the last three years than any of the years before it and he feels no joy in being forced to use it once again. He doesn’t know what to expect when he steps out into the hall but it is not what greets him; the sight of elf slaying elf.

He is careful as he moves through the halls, slaying only elves that he knows do not belong to Menegroth. He finds Thranduil in the throne room, as he did three years past. Thranduil, Nimloth, and Dior are all dressed as they had been before Galion had retired for the night, so he assumes none of them found their beds.

He throws himself immediately into the fighting and doesn’t recognize until later that the three fighting against the royals are three of the Fëanorians; Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir. He watches Nimloth fall, even as he defends his own life. Nimloth’s blade takes down Caranthir, as the Fëanorian’s blade takes down Galion’s beautiful Queen and beloved friend. This serves only to enrage the other four, who all now fight with wild abandon. Galion quickly disposes of his own foe, but not fast enough to prevent Celegorm and Dior from ending each other. He is, however, quick enough to draw Curufin’s blade away from Thranduil, just as Thranduil lands the killing blow upon the Kinslayer.

“Let’s go, Thranduil.” Galion calls, gripping his friend’s wrist and pulling, even as Thranduil makes to continue fighting. “We must find the children!”

“The children!” Thranduil exclaims, seeming to come back to himself before he’s running down the halls, Galion hot on his heels, any foe who gets in their way does not survive it.

They are too late.

The nursery is a mess, the cribs are shattered to pieces and all the toys strewn across the floor and none of the three precious, little elflings are to be found. Galion doesn’t think he’s breathing. Thranduil looks like he’s ready to just collapse into the floor and never move again, so Galion does his duty. He wraps his hand around Thranduil’s wrist and pulls him from the room. His sword making swift work of any elf that gets in their way as he drags his friend through the halls to one of the many hidden passages that will carry them out and into the Forest. Thranduil is all but catatonic behind him until they get under the canopy of the trees, then Thranduil’s back straightens and his head comes up, cocking to the side as his ears twitch. Galion doesn’t stop them moving until Thranduil pulls against his grip.

“I know where the boys are.” Thranduil says, and it’s the only thing that gets Galion to stop and let go.

“What?”

“Celegorm’s heartless servants abandoned them in the trees.” Thranduil hisses, before he’s running off into the trees, Galion curses and chases after him. He’s not sure how long they run through the forest, or even where they end up, but they burst into a clearing and find Eluréd and Elurín huddled together in the roots of one of the trees, their clothes are all torn and their faces are covered in tears. They shrink back against the tree trunk until they recognize Galion and Thranduil, then both boys are running, arms out, and little chests heaving with sobs.

Galion and Thranduil collapse to their knees, their own arms open, before they each find themselves with a little body clutching at them so desperately. Galion wraps his arms around Elurín and swears to let no further harm come to this child, as he’s sure Thranduil is doing the same with Eluréd, these little boys who are all they have left of Thingol, Melian, Lúthien, Beren, Dior, and Nimloth. Such a horrendous burden for such little shoulders to bear.

“We need to get out of here.” Galion finally decides after they’ve spent far too long in this little clearing. “Doriath is lost.”

“Yes.” Thranduil agrees, pushing up onto his feet without letting go of little Eluréd, who simply wraps his little arms around Thranduil’s neck and refuses to let go. Galion follows suit with Elurín, settling the elfling on his hip, so he can still use his sword unhindered. “We tell no-one their true identity.” Thranduil decides, looking at Galion, who nods in agreement.

“They’re just two more orphans from Doriath.” He agrees, even though his heart aches at the words. “But they’re ours, they’re staying with us.”

“I can’t… I can’t claim them, Galion.” Thranduil points out, even as they start moving through the trees. “That would just bring attention to them.”

“You can’t officially claim them, sure. But everyone knows how close we are, no one will find it odd if you dote upon my adoptive sons.” Galion says as if Thranduil should already have figured that out and really, he should have. “The people who matter will already know who the twins are, but everyone else will just assume you’re doting on your best friend’s children. That’s not odd. But we’re going to share this like Nimloth and Lúthien would have wanted.”

“Alright.” Thranduil agrees with a stiff nod. “We can do this.”

“Yes, we can.”

* * *

There were other survivors scattered throughout the forest, some of them in too much panic to listen to the trees, so Thranduil and Galion listened for them, instead. As far as the trees knew, Oropher was still alive, but he’d passed beyond the reach of the Forest hours earlier, with the bulk of the survivors, so Thranduil had decided it fell to him to round up the stragglers.

“What about Elwing?” Galion had whispered to Thranduil, knowing that only his friend and the boys would hear him. Thranduil glanced at him, then at the group of refugees behind him and sighed, before turning to rest his palm flat against the base of one of the trees. Thranduil had always had more luck communing with the trees than any of them, other than Lúthien. The trees talked to everyone who was willing to listen, of course, but they _sang_ for Thranduil and Lúthien, told all the little secrets they could think of in the hopes of pleasing the two part-Maiar. Galion had never been more thankful for it than today.

“Elwing has escaped.” Thranduil answers, his voice just as quiet as Galion’s had been. Galion smiles and feels his shoulders slump a little in relief, sees the giant smiles that form on the boys’ faces, Thranduil sees them, too. “I don’t know if it will be safe to meet up with her, boys.” He warns, Galion sighs and adjusts Elurín on his hip.

“We’ll figure something out, but Thranduil is right. Given everything that has happened, it is safer for the three of you if everyone believes you two are dead.” Galion explains, knowing the boys are far, far too young to really understand everything that has happened, but they need to understand that everything that Thranduil and Galion decide is for their own safety.

“Alright, Honadar Galion.” Eluréd mumbles, snuggling his face against Thranduil’s neck with a tired little sigh. Galion smiles softly at the little boy, feels his brother mimicking him.

“Sleep, little ones, we will keep you safe.” Thranduil murmurs, to them, before turning to Galion. “There are no others beneath the Canopy.”

“We should move on, then. Away from this accursed place.” Galion answers, Thranduil nods stiffly, before moving to let the others know. Galion doesn’t think it’s supposed to hurt this much just to breathe.

* * *

In the walk out of the forest, Thranduil and Galion had quietly agreed on new names for the boys, Eluréd becomes Methestel, the Last Hope, and Elurín becomes Methloth, the Last Blossom, the lost and last heirs of Dior Eluchil and Elu Thingol. Thranduil and Galion have already decided that they will do what they must to ensure the boys will have good and full lives despite all the tragedies that have befallen their forebears.

* * *

It’s early morning when they find a place to rest, they’ve been walking in or around the forests of Doriath most of the night, now, they can rest just within the protection of the trees. None of them have the strength to keep any watch, so Thranduil asks the trees to guard them for one last time, the trees are more than happy to oblige.

Galion settles down against one of the ancient trunks, gently lies Elurín down beside him, and watches as the tree’s roots shift to accommodate him, Thranduil follows suit, placing Eluréd down beside his brother, before turning to Galion and frowning.

“What?” Galion asks, looking up at his friend with burning eyes, and eyelids that feel like sandpaper.

“You’re hurt.” Thranduil answers, kneeling down in front of him, Galion blinks at him in confusion, before looking down at himself.

“Oh!” he exclaims, staring at the cut across his chest, it looks shallow, but is long and bled a lot. “I didn’t even notice.” He says, which he thinks is an accomplishment because he’s been carrying an elfling around for _hours_ after getting the injury.

“I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on it, healing what I can, when I can.” Thranduil replies, which explains why his friend kept touching him randomly when they’d been walking.

“That’s good.” Galion says as the wound starts to make its presence known now, with a raging inferno of pain.

“Just be ready to catch me when I pass out.” Thranduil teases, reaching forward to rest his hands over the wound.

“I’m always ready to catch you, mellon nin.” Galion promises, even as he rests his head back against the trunk of the tree and tiredly closes his eyes. “Do you think the others survived?”

“Which others?”

“Lord Celeborn, Lord Galathil, and… my father.” Galion whispers, shifting and opening his eyes as he realizes that in all the confusion, he hadn’t even thought of his own father. He’d thought of his oath and then he’d thought of Thranduil and everything else had been pushed to the back of his mind “Valar, Thranduil, my father!”

“Peace, Galion.” Thranduil shushes him, his hands still warm and steady over Galion’s chest and Galion finds him stilling beneath them. “The trees tell me your father was injured, but he walked out from under the Canopy with his own strength.”

“Oh, good.”

“As for the others, Lord Celeborn is the only one the trees speak of seeing, he fled with Elwing.” Thranduil explains, his voice becomes even softer, even as he starts to sway in place. “I fear that even had Lord Galathil survived, he wouldn’t have for long after…” Thranduil cuts himself off, his breath hitching before he’s lifting his hands away from Galion and shifting to collapse beside him, leaning against the tree, breathing shakily. “ _She’s gone_.” The words whisper over his lips and Galion swallows thickly, nodding his head as tears burn in his eyes.

“They both are.” Galion agrees, his heart jolting in his chest before he turns to look at the boys resting beside him. “But their legacy lives on, in the boys and in Elwing.” He knows he should be crying, knows there should be thick, ugly tears, but he doesn’t have any energy to give to the sorrow that has welled in him, blossomed and bloomed and grown only ever stronger since Lúthien was lost to them the first time. Now, it’s been four years since they lost Thingol, and three since they lost Lúthien for the second time and he’s just all out of tears. They’ll come later; he knows. But for now, he aches.

* * *

It takes a little time before Galion can think of the boys by their new names, it takes about as long for the boys to answer instinctively to their new names, too. But time is something they have in abundance as they solemnly walk the land, heading south to the Havens of Sirion. Those of them who knew how, had taken charge of hunting or gathering so that they won’t starve, seeing as many of them have only the clothes on their backs, there hadn’t been time to gather anything else, and it had definitely not been safe to go back afterward, as they’d done when the Dwarves sacked the city.

“What are we going to do after Sirion?” Galion asks, as he walks beside Thranduil, upon on his shoulders Methestel is happily looking out across the land, his hands linked with his brother, who is set atop Thranduil’s shoulders.

“East.” Thranduil answers, looking across to the Ered Luin in the distance, that unassailable wall of mountains. “Take ship from the Havens, dock somewhere in Eriador, walk until we find somewhere to live.”

“Even if your father wants to stay in Sirion?” Galion queries, glancing at his friend, sees the way he sets his jaw, yes, his friend is decided.

“I’m getting out of this cursed land before it tries to drag me down with it.” Thranduil states and Galion stops walking, Thranduil halting a step before him, their people continuing to walk around them, until they’re at the end of the convoy and only their nominal ‘guards’ are keeping near them.

“You’ve Seen something.” Galion asserts, remembering the children on their shoulders and wondering if perhaps they should have put them down if what Thranduil has to share is something to keep secret.

“Beleriand sinks beneath the sea, the Ered Luin splits open and the sea spills in.” Thranduil answers, with a jerky nod. “I know not when this Doom comes upon this land, but I have Seen it and at this point, I no longer doubt the Visions.”

“Then, we will leave. Stay in Sirion to recover and convince all those who will come with us, but we will leave.” Galion says, tightening his hold on Methestel’s little legs, reassuring himself that the boy is there and that he is well.

* * *

Arriving at the Havens of Sirion is an experience. Galion’s never been to any of the other elven settlements, and he’s not sure about Thranduil. The twins, he knows, were born near the Lanthir Lamath and Tol Galen, but he doesn’t think they’ve ever been to Sirion. They’re not met by anyone they know at the gates to the Havens, but the moment Thranduil introduces himself, he and Galion find themselves being hustled through the streets, each of them holding tightly to one of the boys.

“They don’t have a forest.” Methestel whispers in Galion’s ear, the little one looking all around them with unbridled awe on his face.

“They’re also not hidden within a cave system.” Galion answers, with a little smile. “This is the Havens of Sirion, it’s a port city.”

“It’s pretty.” Methestel decides and turns to his brother to confer, Methloth, unlike his older brother, is visibly unimpressed.

“I’ll take a forest, thank you.” Methloth decides, primly. Galion is suddenly reminded of Lúthien and Nimloth when their mothers would encourage them to look their best and be on their best behaviours in the hope of attracting suitors. Neither of his female friends had put much stock in the idea, Lúthien had placed even less upon it when she’d had her Vision of Beren. Their other friend had quietly set aside all foreseeable plans of marriage when Lúthien had announced that Nimloth would become Lúthien’s daughter-in-law. It had always amused Galion that though they joked about what Thranduil and Lúthien Saw, no one ever banked against their Visions, except them.

“I, too, would take a forest over a port city.” Thranduil admits, smiling softly at Methloth, Galion quietly wonders if he’s thinking of their missing friends, too. “I’m not too picky on the matter of a cave-dwelling, however.”

“Grandfather always said too much sun was bad for you.” Methloth states, sniffing disdainfully at the sky above them. Galion stifles a laugh, even as Methestel huffs in his arms. “What? It’s _true!”_ Methloth assures them, his voice rising on the defensive. “He said too much sun makes your skin go all burned and hurty and if you aren’t careful, it _peels!”_ the boy exclaims, shuddering. “No, thank you.”

“Nana said that we don’t have to worry about that because we aren’t like grandfather!” Methestel points out, sounding exasperated as only a six-year-old can. “Even ada never got all burned up by the sun!”

“Ada never spent too much time in the sun, how can we know?” Methloth argues, scowling at his brother, Thranduil laughs and shifts the boy in his arms, Galion gently ruffles Methestel’s hair.

“Alright, no fighting. Let’s agree that we all won’t spend too much time in the sun and there won’t be any problems.” Thranduil says, looking between the two boys until they both mumble their agreements. Thranduil turns to their escort and frowns. “Where are you taking us?”

“Prince Oropher commanded that you be bought straight to him, if you arrived here.” Their escort explains, leading them to the largest dwelling in the city. Thranduil shares a look with Galion, but neither asks anything further as they’re lead into the building and through expertly crafted halls. The boys quietly discussing the carvings along the walls that tell the story of their people from the Awakening.

The escort takes them swiftly through the halls and brings them to a stop outside a beautifully carved wooden door, upon it, in golden paint, are the sigils of the Great Houses of Olwë, Finwë, Elwë, and Elmo. Galion startles at seeing the mark for Elmo’s House, since it hasn’t been used since Elmo’s sudden and mysterious disappearance long before Galion’s birth, it’s seen now only in the history books or on the relics of his House. He does find it curious that the sigil for the House of Vinimo is not present, but then Oropher hasn’t used the symbol of his own House for many, many years, content to place himself within House of Elwë.

Their escort knocks at the door and they all wait quietly before Prince Oropher’s voice calls for them to enter. The escort opens the door, before ushering them in and closing the door behind them. Gailon turns immediately to the two elves already present in the room, hurrying to let Methestel down when the boy wriggles excitedly in his arms.

“Cousin!” Methestel exclaims, rushing to throw his arms around Celeborn’s left leg, while Methloth repeats him with Celeborn’s right. The last of Elmo’s House lets out a surprised breath and drops to his knees to embrace the two little boys, while Galion brings his attention to the other elf. He smiles when Thranduil rushes across the space to wrap his arms around his father, both babbling at each other with tears running down their faces. Galion steps back, to let both groups have their reunion.

Eventually, the elves settle, Celeborn still seated on the floor with the boys snuggled into his side, and Thranduil and Oropher sitting across from each other at the desk, Galion takes the final seat in the room and raises an eyebrow at his friend. Thranduil breathes deeply and turns to Celeborn, biting his lip.

“Lord Galathil didn’t make it out.” Thranduil starts, Galion reaches across to squeeze his hand when his friend stops and looks away from the elf-lord. Celeborn’s whole body has gone taut, the expression on his face can only be described as stricken. “Nimloth and Caranthir Fëanorion slew each other.” His friend says gently, as Methestel climbs to his feet and crosses to Thranduil’s chair, scrambling up into Thranduil’s lap. Galion watches as his friend wraps the boy up tightly in his arms, the boy clinging back just as strongly. “Dior and Celegorm Fëanorion the same.”

“Thranduil and Curufin were also heading that way, but I drew Curufin’s blade away in time, and instead Thranduil struck the killing blow.” Galion cuts in when his friend falls silent. Now, it is Oropher who looks stricken. Galion looks instead between the two boys, Methloth is sitting in Celeborn’s lap, turned to face his cousin (uncle?), his little hands gently wiping away the tears flowing down the elf-lord’s face. Methestel is simply resting his face against Thranduil’s chest and sniffling. “Celegorm’s people left the boys in the forest to die, but the trees took Thranduil and I to them. We’ve given them new names and I’ve officially claimed them as my sons, since we decided it was too dangerous to let anyone believe they survived and Thranduil cannot officially claim them for the same reason.”

“Given what will happen should the remaining Fëanorians learn that I escaped with both Elwing and the Silmaril, yes, that’s a good precaution.” Celeborn says, his voice sounding like the crunching of gravel, Galion hurts just hearing it.

“How did you possibly pull that off?” Thranduil exclaims in shock, Oropher snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Nimloth and Dior often left the family heirlooms with the elflings, if they weren’t needed.” Celeborn explains, sighing heavily and shaking his head. “Elwing was wearing the Nauglamir at the time, she also has the Ring of Barahir. I imagine the boys have both Lúthien’s necklace and Nimloth’s bracelet.”

Galion immediately looks to first Methestel, who sits up in Thranduil’s arms and smiles sheepishly, pulling a familiar necklace of white gems from his pocket. Long ago, Lúthien had taken the white gems she’d worn in her hair that first night in the Glade and had them made into a necklace, she’d been wearing it the day she met Beren. Galion laughs when he also sees that in the midst of the white gems is the midnight blue Ring of Elwë.

He breathes deep and turns to look at Methloth, who is holding up a bracelet of white gems, similar to Lúthien’s necklace. Where Lúthien had taken the gems that had adorned her hair and turned them into a necklace to wear about her neck, Nimloth had taken her own gems and turned them into a bracelet, to sit upon her wrist.

“Nana said we should hide them if anything happened. She told us that daernana said they were important, and they’d be needed at some point in the future.” Methestel explains, holding out the jewelry to Thranduil, who takes them with shaking fingers.

“Ada gave me his ring, too, before we went to bed that night.” Methloth says, carefully handing the bracelet to Celeborn, before digging in his pocket and coming back up with the Ring of Dior, it was a simple silver band set with a single emerald, it had been a gift from Nimloth, in the very early days of their courting. “He said not to be scared, that everything would be alright. But I was scared anyway.” Methloth admits in a whisper, Methestel nodding in emphatic agreement.

“They knew.” Thranduil breathes, unable to take his eyes off the jewelry in his hands.

“Lúthien must have Seen something.” Galion agrees, sighing heavily and rubbing at his eyes. “How many times did she or you tell us that it was best not to interfere with prophecy? Lúthien probably saw that the children would survive, so Nimloth and Dior were resigned to their fate.”

“Melian always cautioned us not to fight prophecy. She was wroth with Thingol for a long time, for interfering with Beren.” Oropher admits, Thranduil snorts.

“Lúthien was wroth with Thingol for all of that, too.”

“Yes, my brother was quite good at inciting the women in his life to rage.” Oropher agrees, with a laugh, Galion snorts and shakes his head in disbelief, Thranduil laughs, but sobers quickly, looking at the two boys, then to his father.

“Galion and I are leaving Beleriand.” Thranduil says, without preamble. “We’re taking the boys and we’re going to sail to Eriador. There is a Doom coming for all of Beleriand, I will not let the boys be here when it arrives.”

“What have you Seen?” Lord Celeborn asks, holding the bracelet out to Methloth, who takes it and tucks it safely back in his pocket with the ring. Thranduil hands the necklace and Thingol’s ring back to Methestel, who tucks them away.

“Near all of Beleriand sunk beneath the waves, only Ossiriand survives, and even then, the Ered Luin is split open.” Galion watches the vicious smile that slowly forms on his friend’s face and frowns. “It happens right about where Nogrod is, such a shame. Those poor dwarves.” Thranduil comments, though he doesn’t sound sad about it at all, Galion only sighs.

“In any case, we’ve decided it’s better to not be here when Ulmo vents his rage.” Galion cuts in before either of the other two elves can comment. “We haven’t really thought much beyond ‘don’t be here when the entire landmass sinks beneath the waves’, but we’ll figure things out as we go along, if need be.”

“I will go with you, then. This land holds nothing for me.” Oropher agrees though he frowns at Celeborn. “Will you journey East with us, or no?”

“I will remain here; my wife’s kin are still here and we would not be able to flee with Elwing without having to explain why.” Celeborn answers, before frowning at Thranduil, Galion, and the boys. “We can discuss this more later, you all are in need of baths, food, and rest.”

“Are you implying that we stink, Lord Celeborn?” Thranduil queries, a laugh bubbling on his lips. “We did wander along the Sirion, I’ll have you know.”

“You can be offended if you want, Thranduil. But I’m going to enjoy a hot bath without complaint.” Galion decides, with a grin. “I know better than to cut off my nose to spite my face.”

“Please endeavor to teach my son this valuable skill.” Oropher pipes up, Thranduil and Celeborn both scoff.

“As if you ever learned such, adar!” Thranduil argues, lifting Methestel in his arms as he gets to his feet, Galion goes to snatch Methloth up into his own arms. “Come along, boys, we shall go and make ourselves presentable, since it’s obvious we are no longer wanted here.” His friend announces, throwing his head back, nose up in the air, as he stalks out the room.

* * *

Exhaustion settles on him like a thick weight as he soaks in the warm water. The twins are happily splashing about under Thranduil’s careful eye, but Galion finds himself struggling to even remain awake. His wounds from the battle had been healing steadily along their journey, but Thranduil had warned him repeatedly that at some point, the weariness would claim him. Galion supposes it made sense that once he acknowledged they were once again safe; he no longer had the energy to keep going.

“Come along, mellon nin, before you fall asleep in here and drown.” Thranduil coaxes and Galion jumps, his eyes springing open, he hadn’t even realized he had closed them.

“The boys?” he queries when he sees that their little shadows are missing.

“Already tucked up in bed.” Thranduil admits, stepping forward to help Galion climb from the bathing pool. He sways on the spot when he’s out of the water, his eyes fluttering shut even as he tries to keep them open, he hears Thranduil chuckling and doesn’t fight when his friend takes care of rubbing him dry with what he thinks maybe the world’s fluffiest towel. “You do actually have to help me with the sleep pants, though.” His friend comments and Galion lets out a breathless laugh. He manages to open his eyes and find strength enough to climb into the sleep pants Thranduil hands him. Then he surrenders to Thranduil’s grip on his wrist and lets himself be dragged away.

He’s ushered into a soft bed, his arms instinctually wrapping around the little furnace that crawls into his arms. He’s not awake enough to figure out which of the twins has attached themselves to his chest and he doesn’t really think it matters much, either. He hums as he feels a thick blanket settling over them.

“Sleep, mellon nin. You’ve done your duty.” Thranduil’s voice soothes and Galion finally lets himself give in fully to the sleep that beckons him.

* * *

He wakes to the feel of little hands playing with his hair and he smiles softly as he lets his eyes flutter open. Looks up into Methloth’s smiling face.

“You’ve been sleeping for ages.” The little one whines, smile turning into a little pout, Galion chuckles and sits up, reaching up to feel at his hair and find the half-completed braids scattered all through his long locks.

“You’ve been quite busy, or did your brother help you?” Galion queries, letting his hand fall away as he turns to look at the elfling. Methloth huffs and shakes his head.

“Methestel wanted to go see the city, so honadar has taken him for a walk.” The boy answers, making such a disgruntled little face Galion can’t help but laugh. “Honadar says we can go visit the trees at Nimbrethil later, but I don’t want to see more of this city. It’s not the same as home, so I said I’d stay with you.”

“Well, what would you like to do until they come back then? I do have to go and track down my adar at some point.” Galion says, absently wondering why his stomach turns at the thought, he trusts Thranduil and Thranduil assured him his father had survived the attack, but whether he survived the journey to Sirion is another matter. _Surely, Oropher or Lord Celeborn would have told me if my father was dead?_

“Is he gonna be our daeradar now?” the little voice tugs him from his own thoughts before he can start panicking. He swiftly plays back the words and lets a little smile pull at his lips.

“If you want to claim him as such, I’m certain he wouldn’t complain.” Galion agrees, reaching out to ruffle Methloth’s hair. “You must also know that your Honadar Thranduil and I don’t mind if you continue to call us honadar, and we won’t mind if you call us that forevermore. We aren’t trying to replace your nana or your ada, we simply love you both very much and want to take care of you.”

“We know.” Methloth replies in a small whisper. “But what if something happens to you and honadar?”

“Then my father, Lord Oropher, Lord Celeborn, or even Lord Círdan will take you in and they will love you as we love you, as your ada and nana loved you. You will never be alone in this world, penneth.” Galion promises, Methloth considers him with a serious little frown before nodding.

“Alright, adar.” He says, his little eyes narrowed as he watches for Galion’s reaction. For his part, Galion’s heart constricts painfully in his chest, but he can’t help the bright smile that forms on his face.

“Ion nin.” He whispers, holding his arms open, wrapping them around the little body that scrambles into them. He holds his son close and thinks of Nimloth and Dior, Lúthien and Beren, Thingol and Melian, and when the tears burn in his eyes for the first time in a long time, he lets them fall.

* * *

He finds his father in one of the large gardens towards the centre of the Havens. Methloth is walking along beside him, his little hand holding tightly to Galion’s own. His little son truly is unimpressed by Sirion and its lack of trees and caves.

He leads Methloth into the garden and sits him down on one of the benches and watches his father admiring the flowers as he waits for them to be noticed. They don’t have to wait long before his father turns and freezes the moment his eyes land upon them.

“Hello, adar.” Galion greets before strong arms are wrapping around him and crushing him against a solid chest. For the second time that day, tears stream down his face, given the shaking breaths in his ear, he assumes his father, too, is crying.

“I thought you lost.” his father exclaims, his words choked, Galion breathes in deeply, then lets it out on a sigh.

“Prince Thranduil and I lead the last group of survivors.” He says, as his father pulls back to assess him, Galion’s eyes are searching for the injury Thranduil told him his father had sustained, he can’t find any obvious bandages, so he assumes it’s hidden beneath his clothing, just as his own injury is. “We were there when King Dior and Queen Nimloth were lost.”

“But you’re here, you’re safe.”

“It was a close thing, but we escaped,” Galion confirms, even though none is necessary, for his presence is confirmation enough. Beside him, Methloth cautiously reaches out and takes his hand and Galion smiles at his son before turning back to his father. “Adar, I’d like to introduce you to Methloth. Thranduil and I rescued him from Menegroth, I’ve adopted him and his brother. Methloth, this is my father, Uialneth.”

“While I am pleased to welcome you into the family, I am sorry for your loss, penneth.’ Galion’s father says gently, Methloth swallows thickly and nods his little head, wiping at his eyes as tears start to fall. Galion pulls him into his arms and holds the elfling while they sob. “I assume his brother is with Prince Thranduil?” Galion’s father asks, Galion nods softly and gently rests his head against the top of Methloth’s.

“Methestel is fascinated by the city, but our little Methloth doesn’t particularly care for it.” He explains as they let Methloth sob against Galion’s chest. He doesn’t think either of the boys has really grieved yet. They’d all been so concerned with getting to Sirion, they hadn’t really processed what they were fleeing from. “Father, I should tell you, we’re going to Eriador.”

“I… why?” Uialneth queries, frowning at him, Galion hesitates and licks at his lips.

“Thranduil has foreseen the Doom of Beleriand. We intend not to be here when it comes.” He finally explains, gently running his fingers through Methloth’s hair as the little one starts to calm.

“Where in Eriador will you go?” his father asks, but Galion just laughs and shakes his head.

“We don’t know. We are going to make it up as we go along.”

“Just business as usual, then?” his father queries, an eyebrow raised in amusement, Galion laughs, the sound a little choked even to his own ears.

“Exactly.”

“I think I shall pass on this occasion, ion nin. But I will be sure to visit you, wherever you may end up.” His father says, glancing down at Methloth with fond eyes. “Especially since I’ll need to get to know my new grandsons.”

“You’ll always be welcome, ada!” he promises, before he sighs and pushes from the bench, adjusting Methloth to rest on his hip. “I should be heading back, before Prince Thranduil worries.”

“Yes, we can speak more later.” Uialneth agrees, before reaching out to rest a gentle hand on Methloth’s head. “Farewell, tithen ion.”

* * *

It takes Galion a little while to find his way back to the Main House, having never been to Sirion before and having dismissed his escort when he went into the garden to see his father, the walk back was a bit of a sightseeing venture. Methloth was still decidedly unimpressed, but he did admit that the gardens were nice, and he liked being able to listen to the birds singing.

When they finally make it back to the Main House, Galion then endures the labyrinth until he finds the rooms that he’s sharing with Thranduil, since his friend had all but refused to let them be separated. He steps through the door and pauses, frowning at the sight that greets him. Thranduil’s sitting on the bed, little Methesel tucked up in his arms, crying. Thranduil looks up as they enter and smiles.

“See, penneth? I told you they would be back, they went out exploring, like we did.” Thranduil soothes, and Methestel looks up and his face lights up as he pulls out of Thranduil’s arms and darts across the room to pull Methloth into a tight hug.

“We got back, and you were _gone,_ and I was worried. What if the bad ones were here?” Methestel explains, through hiccupping sobs. Galion immediately feels like his heart has been stabbed a thousand times.

“Oh, penneth, I’m sorry.” He exclaims, gently resting his hand on Methestel’s head, while the twins continue to cling to each other. “We didn’t mean to scare you; we went to meet my father and we got a little bit lost on the way back.”

“How about we leave notes next time we split up?” Thranduil asks, getting a set of nods from the boys. “Excellent, that’s what we’ll do then. How about you boys go and catch up while I talk to your honadar?”

“To adar!” Methloth corrects, looking at Thranduil like he’s daring Thranduil to argue. Thranduil swallows thickly then nods.

“To your adar.”

“Alright, tata!” Methloth agrees with a grin, grabbing Methestel’s hand and pulling him into the midst of all the toys in the far corner that Galion hadn’t noticed before. Thranduil stares after the boys, the look on his face is so shocked, it brings a little smile to Galion’s lips.

“Come on back to me, mellon nin.” Galion coaxes, sitting down on the bed beside his friend. Thranduil snorts and turns to look at him.

“That was an unexpected development.”

“Not so unexpected where I’m standing. Methloth and I talked, it appears the boys were worried about what would happen to them if we couldn’t care for them anymore.” Galion explains, watching the boys play, he notes that the boys frequently check to see that he and Thranduil are still present, and he wonders when they’ll stop doing that, if they ever will.

“What did you tell them?”

“That they’d never be alone, that your father or mine would care for them, that Celeborn would, or Círdan.” Galion answers, before sighing heavily. “My father isn’t going to Eriador with us.”

“Then we shall simply visit him so often it is as if we live with him.” Thranduil decides, without any hesitation. Galion smiles and nods his agreement, even as he questions what he ever did to be worthy of the friendship and loyalty of a prince.

* * *

Despite their best intentions, it was determined that only Oropher would leave for Eriador. Galion and Thranduil had wanted to leave with him, but he’d argued, correctly, that it wasn’t safe to take the boys on the road without having anywhere safe in mind of them to retreat to if anything were to happen. Sirion would protect them and they would be free to grow up alongside their sister, even if she could not know the truth of their identity just yet.

Steadily, the boys grow older, seeking out mischief with their sister like they were born for it and little else. Galion, Thranduil, Uialneth, and Celeborn often traded out the task of chasing after the three elflings, ensuring that while they might get into trouble, no one could be harmed by accident or otherwise. Galion enjoyed the time spent with his father, knowing that in a few years, they’d be leaving and despite all their promises to visit no one could truly know how things would turn out.

* * *

When Elwing is sixteen, the twins nineteen, she is told the secret. Galion had expected the tears and wrathful vengeance of a teenager ‘betrayed’, but Elwing had simply smiled and pronounced ‘I knew it!’ When questioned further, she’d explained that she’d sometimes dreamed of her brothers, but they were not the boys as she remembered them, but elves fully grown. She explained that she hadn’t talked of them, because every time she tried to, she suddenly felt chilled and decided it was best to keep the dreams to herself. It had been the first sign any of them had that Elwing had inherited her grandmother and her great-grandmother’s foresight.

When asked, the twins had admitted to also possessing the gift, but they simply hadn’t spoken of it because their dreams had been of a time far into the future.

* * *

When the twins are 38, and Elwing is 35 and married with twins of her own, everything changes for all of them. Galion and Thranduil both have to resist the urge to clutch their twins to them and scream that it’s not fair. Their swords are familiar weights in their hands, the sound of screaming in their ears, and the smell of blood in their noses are just as familiar to them now, as they fight their way out of the burning havens.

**Author's Note:**

> Things of note that haven't been revealed yet because... they ain't been written.   
> Methloth becomes Erestor. No, Elrond doesn't know.   
> Thranduil's grandfather is Radagast, in Doriath, he went by the name 'Cuiloth' and when Thran's mum died, he left back to the sea to grieve. Then, he returned with the Blue Wizards to keep an eye on Thran. Which is why he ultimately settles down in Greenwood.


End file.
